


Overlord

by Doitsuki



Category: Overlord (Triumph Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Adventure, BUT the spoilers progress in segments as you would play the game, Betrayal, Campy Evil prancing around killing shit, Character Development, Domination, Evil, Evil Plans, F/M, Gameplay, Harm to Children, Harm to Everyone, Humour, M/M, Multi, Murder, Other, Overlord being Overlord, Sadism, Servants, Seven Deadly Sins, Slavery, Spoilers, Video Game Mechanics, World Domination, dubcon, lmaoooo just play the game, lol, need a cutscene? use the chapter titles, take note of the medieval setting pls, tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 22:38:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5023219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doitsuki/pseuds/Doitsuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The video game Overlord is written here as a work of fiction, as I play it and spin tales of life within the Tower. Also included are all the quests, along with accurate dialogue and attention paid to keeping people + minions in character. If you haven't the time to play the game and prefer reading, then this is for you :D<br/>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br/>Derivative story elements:<br/>-Insight to Overlord's personality and development<br/>-Relationships between minions, their Master, Gnarl, the servants, the Overlord's mistress... (no spoilers here)<br/>-An expanded array of actions taken to inflict glorious, evil suffering on the world (see: explicit torture, razing of towns)<br/>-Sexual content and psychological violence (that's a thing ;_;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Introduction of Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> This reads a bit like a literary walkthrough of the game haha so YOU MIGHT GET BORED as there's not much flowery prose or insight into derivative plot until about chapter 7. As I play, I write. I hope you enjoy it <3

It was when light touched his sleeping face that the Overlord awoke. He knew not where or _who_ he was, only that there was malice in his heart blacker than the robes he wore. In silence he shifted, trying to rise and block all that accursed sunlight from his glowing white eyes. Then he saw it. A face. Then another. Several bright yellow gazes directed at him, sharp-toothed smiles and warbling voices. Before he could make sense of anything, a hand was shoved into his face and his skin twisted, burning.

“Rrgh!” He lunged forth and saw the blurred creatures scatter, his legs unable to carry him far. Luckily he had no need to walk, for he found himself at the center of a stone circle. Hands reached for him but did not grope nor seek to injure. Hard, cold objects pressed to him and as his muscles loosened with renewed energy, he understood words.

“Master! Evilness truly suits you!” A small brown thing with huge ears and knobbled limbs fixed a buckle in place, an image of a skull upon it. “Let us go forth! There are nefarious deeds to be done!”

It should be said now that the Overlord was called thus due to complete lack of identity otherwise – he’d awoken, unknowing, and now apparently was being put in a fine suit of armour. Gleaming pauldrons and a double-spiked helm were placed upon him as the brown creatures stood on each other’s shoulders to reach his height. At two meters tall, he appeared quite imposing despite his weary slouch.

_‘What is going on…?’_ he wondered, peering through slitted eyes at the creature nearest his head. He received a gibbering mess of words and aversion of gaze in reply, before the thing jumped away. Uncaring for its odd behaviour, the Overlord looked to his left. There around his forearm was a gauntlet different to the one on the right, with a glowing aura like flame and terror imbued to its center. He examined the round light, finding it pleasing to the eye as one would admire lava or a crackling fire. As he looked his hand rose to his face, fingers flexing in their new metal glove. At his feet, the creatures (no taller than his knees) gathered as if answering crucial summons. Only one dared to speak.

“I feel the land quaking in fear already…”

The Overlord glanced and immediately the creature was silent. _‘Hm. They seem frightened by my attentions.’_ Just when he thought to ask “What now?”, a low creaking echoed in the dimly lit cave. All eyes turned left. From two tall doors came another of the brown creatures, its face wrinkled beyond hope with overgrown sideburns and a wispy beard. Clad in ancient robes, he had a stick with a lantern on the end poking out of his back. It illuminated his suddenly smiling face.

“I am Gnarl, Minion Master and Devoted Servant of Darkness.” Towards the Overlord he bowed, and the creatures (apparently Minions) did the same. “Follow me, Sire. I shall take you to a more… pleasant accomodation.”

The Overlord inclined his head with a short breath of agreement. He did not see fit to speak now, not when he had someone who would hopefully explain all this. Through the cavern they went, five minions at the Overlord’s back while Gnarl remained in front. More bright light assaulted the Overlord’s eyes, but he grew used to it as he saw it to be little threat. White and pulsing, rocks orbited it and to the right was a yellowish pit in the ground. Gnarl gestured with his bony, crooked hands.

“This is the Brown spawning pit, Sire. You may call forth your minions from here, should you possess the lifeforce to do so.”

The Overlord felt he had enough energy in him to do such a thing and without thinking, thrust his left hand out. As it curled upwards, three minions jumped from the pit with cries of glee. They joined the others behind their Master, who looked to Gnarl for further instruction. The Servant of Darkness gave a wry smile and cooed.

“Ah, look at those keen little Evil faces, ready to loot and pillage at your command!”

_‘Loot and pillage…? They will acquire fortune for me, then? That shall prove useful… as I recall, it costs a fair amount of coin to live.’_

“What else?” The Overlord prompted further explanation, his deep voice rumbling throughout the cavern. Behind him, the minions sighed in awe.

“Your minions will follow you wherever you go, Master, unless you give them a task.” Gnarl beckoned and went for some stairs, followed by the Overlord. “Being Overlord is more than just throwing a few fireballs and causing chaos! Proper evil takes skill, and… maybe, well… just a bit of mayhem!”

_‘Mayhem. He means lighting people on fire and watching them run around, smashing into things, right?’_ The Overlord blinked in surprise. _‘Such dark thoughts… all this talk of evil really is starting to affect me. But it does hold my interest… for now.’_

As Gnarl finished his words he began to cackle, delighted by thoughts conjured in his twisted mind. Then, someone else spoke. A lilting voice with a whimsical whine floated into the Overlord’s ears.

“I think the sleeping beauty’s a little rusty~!” Now out in the sunlight from the deep, dank caves, minions and Overlord alike stared at the offending creature. With a three-pointed green hat and a club in one hand, there stood a thing alike in appearance to the minions but with a paler grey shade of skin. Gnarl gave a heavy sigh, growling another explanation.

“Our Jester, Sire. I really should have nailed him out for the crows long ago!” Eyes rolled in head at the sight of many flips and cartwheels, along with the sound of goofy laughter. “This is no way to act before one so powerful! Teach him to respect his Overlord…” Crafty anticipation formed Gnarl’s words into serious encouragement. The Overlord glanced at him, then to the somewhat annoying Jester.

_‘He tries too hard for what? He does not even know me. What I find amusing is not… this. Whatever this is.’_

“Oi, tubs! They should call you the Overlard~~~! Yahahahaha!” The Jester spun around, laughing madly. Slight shock prompted the Overlord to look down at his armored body. Then further down. He stalked towards the giggling pest with empty hands, until a minion ran up to him and handed over a nice, big axe. Polished steel with sharp edges spread from the tip, and the handle was of good iron to hold. The Overlord hesitated little and swung, smacking the Jester in the face. His blow sent the creature flying, weapon carving the air in an upward sweep. The Jester got up without a single drop of blood shed and grinned. “Come on, princess! Tickle me some more, ha-aaah! OW!” Over and over the Overlord beat upon the Jester until he was distracted by Gnarl’s voice.

“See? It’s all coming back now! Evil is not something you just forget!”

_‘I’m busy, damn you. Why will this thing not die?’_ He wasn’t about to inquire however and raised his axe for another strike. Then the Jester _dodged._ Faster than a pig through a trough of butter he sprinted to high ground, dancing around a brown-leafed tree. The grass reached his knees for lack of height.

“Oi Mr Overlord! Show me some eeeeeeeevil!!!”

The Overlord began to breathe a little heavier, the metallic ‘haah’ of threatening air echoing in his helmet. He pointed his left index finger towards the Jester, mind consumed by one thing. _Death_.

It appeared his arm had similar thoughts and warmed with the gauntlet’s magical glow, orange casting light and doom towards the Jester. Eight minions sprinted around the small, bothersome paths to begin punching the Jester, some even kicking with their bare, clawed feet. The Overlord’s arm dropped to his side.

_‘They fight for me, against one of their own. If I… move my arm like this…”_

Gnarl was nearly singing with glee. “Oh it warms my black heart to see them running about the place… trying to rip each other apart.” The more blows inflicted, the greater his smile grew. Soon the Jester was crying “Gaaaah! I hurt, I hurt!” in his whiny little voice. The Overlord swept his hand around to direct his minions, retreating then giving chase to herd the Jester back to proper ground. Then Gnarl spoke again.

“It is time enough we got moving, Sire. Accompany me to the Throne Room when you are ready – it’s just down this path.” He glanced at the Jester then, who quivered with a crooked grin on his face. “Feel free to beat him further if you wish.”

Oh and the Overlord did, having his minions watch while the Jester’s skull was bashed into hard, unforgiving ground.

“Augh, I get it, I get it Lord! I’m sorry! You’re evil, you’re really really evil! AGH!” On and on he was whacked in the head until he could barely move, until the Overlord turned his axe to its sharp edge. His white eyes gleamed in the darkness of his shadowed face, and the minions cheered.

“Waaah, have mercy Sire! Pleeease don’t kill me!” The Jester tried to grovel with what last breath he had, and the Overlord considered it.

_‘You serve me. We shall yet see if your pathetic, unfunny life holds merit.’_

Without a word, he left. The path swallowed his majestic presence with cliffs looming on either side, the Jester seeing little but birds and stars in his blurred vision.

 

The Overlord came to his tower through an entrance soon closed up. Gnarl greeted him with a bow of head and open hand gesture.

“Your Throne Room, Sire!” The hall stood tall with many pillars holding up balconies, then a ceiling. Ragged brown banners hung from there and everything else in the Throne Room was of drab, monotonous grey. The Overlord raised an eyebrow at his ‘Throne’, which looked more like a badly chiseled and given-up-on rock sculpting project.

“Alas, one cannot be a bastion of Evil these days without wretched heroes trying to prove themselves! That last lot were particularly bothersome, killing your predecessor like that.” Gnarl went on to explain why the Dark Tower and all it held within was in such bad shape, to the Overlord’s displeasure. He took some comfort in the fact of all those heroes being out of his hair, but further annoyance at not being able to end them himself. After all, this Throne Room was _his_ , and look at what they’d done to it! There was no carpet and instead of adornments, rubble cluttered the place! _‘Have I been asleep in that dark place all this time….?’_

Gnarl saw his Master’s distress and sought to ease wounded heart.

“Still, you’re here now, Sire. Evil will always find a way!” He pumped his fist in the air, wincing at the crack of old bones. “You are our new Overlord!”

Re-establishing his Dark Domain and punishing the heroes became the Overlord’s new purpose. Before he could even think to plan, Gnarl offered guidance.

“Travel will be much easier as will everything else if you re-acquire the Tower Heart.” Upon receiving a blank stare, he elaborated. “It will energize this portal here,” he pointed to a pool half-circled by pillars, facing the open air and lined with marble steps. “…and allow you great power. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

The Overlord was busy wondering if he could survive a fall beyond the portal and glanced down, noting dark stretches of burnt ground along with scattered bones and twisting spires rising out of the earth. The sky was much the same, though covered in dark cloud with little room for the sun.

“Come, Master. I would see your domain flourish sooner than later. When you are ready, step into the portal.” Gnarl gestured towards the portal and the Overlord caught a flicker of his eyes to the right. Clashing, tinny bells could be heard from none other than the freshly-healed Jester, prancing towards his Master. The Overlord all but jumped into the portal.


	2. Mellow Hills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *cue lighthearted dooty music* :D

 

The first thing that greeted the Overlord after a most pleasing swirl of red light was the fresh, fragrant air. Lush green grass swept at his sabatons, leaving no mark against the shining steel. All around, life rejoiced in its mere existence. Birds swooped and sang, bees buzzed and butterflies fluttered (as they often did) around flowers. Every scent and sound was so alien to the Overlord’s first memories (those being of his awakening hours ago) and he snarled. Gnarl did the same, spitting clear disgust into the grass.

“This tranquil wilderness… so rural and idyllic. Hideous is it not? Try not to inhale it, my Lord!”

It seemed like a well enough idea to hold his breath, and the Overlord grit his teeth to prevent too much sickly goodness invading him. By all things dark, this place was just so… _free_. Unrestrained and natural, it scratched at him until the feeling became physical, and he twitched. With the tremble of fingers came a direction for minions to come out of a nearby spawning pit, three browns with nasty glares for the world. They were near his emotional clones, so alike in disposition at present. That vanished the minute they started gibbering and forming behind him.

_‘I can ignore this, I suppose. I wonder how far my will can reach in this land…?’_

As Gnarl babbled about arcane links and Tower Objects in the current bright, verdant abomination the Overlord stood in, an incessant bleating could be heard. Over to the left was a paddock, one small gap in the wooden fence close by.

“These fluffy creatures barely know they’re alive, but you can still harvest Lifeforce from them.” Gnarl pointed to the brown spawning pit. “Kill, and shape the lives you take into more minions to serve your will!”

“I need no instruction in the art of slaughter.” The Overlord’s minions looked to him as he growled.

Gnarl’s hinting ceased, though a soft and distant chuckling could be heard from behind his hand. _‘All they do is chew grass until something kills them,’_ he thought. ‘ _The Overlord should not have any problems gathering lifeforce here.’_ Watching like a father over his child’s first venture into battle, Gnarl leaned on a fence post. The Overlord’s open hand went forth towards the sheep and without verbal command, the minions all rushed in to chase and club every last sheep to death. Sometimes they needed to be directed after some faraway fluffballs but the Overlord saw to it that every last sheep had soon died. Back and forth the minions ran, collecting glowing yellow balls of lifeforce. They went into the Overlord’s gauntlet, where ancient magic gave energy to the brown spawning pit. For a moment he stood and felt a rush course through his body, heating blood and desire at once. To see such innocent creatures so mercilessly slaughtered… for them to unwillingly give their life for the Overlord’s evil cause… it brought a smile to his thin lips.

“More…” Two minions came from the spawning pit. _‘More blood. This grass is far too green, on all sides of this accursed, hero-infested land.’_ Where his sudden hatred came from he could not say, but noticed Gnarl nodding in silence to himself. Further he explored in search of more to kill and came across a pillar in his path. His first thought was to move it himself but flexed his arms and felt his muscles say ‘no’. One gesture later and the minions went to shove the fallen pillar, their hands spreading across cracked stone.

“Go on, you putrid lumps of flesh! Make your Master proud!” Gnarl enthused until the path was free, and then the Overlord moved onward. What he saw then was the first human he’d seen in a long time. Tied to a cross was a farmer, complaining about halflings.

“I hear… the pumpkins whispering…” he mumbled, waving his arms about as best he could. “Ohhhh, those filthy halflings! I won’t let them have my farm!”

Said farm was a small plot of land covered in pumpkins, beside a house with some short people inside. Halflings indeed – half the size of men, and with ugly grimacing faces. They made the minions look cute in comparison.

The Overlord cared little and sent his browns to destroy the farm, strangely to the owner’s delight. Bob uprooted his stick from the ground and waddled towards the house, speaking of birds laughing at his ridiculous appearance.

_‘He’s mad, apparently. Pah, I have no time for this. I shall eradicate whatever’s in his house and be on my way soon enough.’_

Into the house went the minions, and out came a stumpy halfling with a sharpened stick in hand. He spewed gibberish and was soon cut down by fierce axe strike, his blood trickling into the mess of pumpkin-flesh.

“Woohoo! That showed ‘em!” Bob jumped up and down, and the minions cheered.

“Master! Master!” They cried, eyes shining at the sight of raw death. A (doubtfully) intelligent creature cut down in a single strike! How strong and cruel their Lord was! Bob was eager to see the Overlord on his way, caring little for his ruined house.

“Oh, you’d better get going sonny. Now the path behind my house leads to the village of Spree.” He continued talking even as the Overlord walked away, over to see barrel and crate smashed by clubs to clear the way. There was no rolling things aside, oh no. Everything was destroyed, and Bob was left with _nothing_. He could only chat to his reflection in a pool of blood, wondering how talkative marrows were.

The dusty path lead towards a bridge, where a wheel was turned by four minions as the other one stood aside, gazing at the Overlord with adoration. The moment the white bridge came down, barely a glance was spared past before four fat halflings jogged up to attack the Overlord without reason. At once the minions rushed to protect their Master, beating and breaking bones until a cracked, bleeding pile was left where once had been mortal life. Into the Overlord’s gauntlet went the halfling lifeforce. Dark clouds manifested above them, evil energy swelling in turbulent coils up towards the Overlord. It was thick and blanketed all sense, a heavy sense of comfort settling in the Overlord’s very being.

 _‘Yes… this feels right.’_ For a moment he stood, basking. Then he remembered the sun shining upon him and sought to rip it from the sky. But in lieu of a method, he had to resort to _other_ evil deeds. Unfortunately all he could do at present was destroy pumpkins, for Gnarl had set his sights on something of supreme importance. The Tower Heart!

 


	3. Connection to Spree

 

The Overlord sat in his ruined Dark Tower, upon his grey throne. Five minions cleaned bits of pumpkin from his silver armour, muttering nonsense as they scrubbed. He watched them whilst clothed in little more than his black tunic and leggings, the only clothes he owned aside from ragged robes. Beside him, Gnarl wrung his hands. The Minion Master oversaw what was going on down the hall, the Tower Heart’s glow stealing his attention away from the Overlord. It mattered not to the freshly inducted Maker of Malice, who had enough yellow eyes upon him to keep his ego warm. Or at least, to stoke it into further growth.

A gentle splash rippled through the portal as the Tower Heart was accepted.

“It is done!” said Gnarl, looking to the Overlord. “A fine acquisition, one most welcome as a start. It will allow you to access the tower whenever you wish, and make use of its resources.”

 _‘Resources such as…? Do go on, and don’t think I miss the glimmer in your eyes. You quite like baiting my interest, don’t you…?’_ The Overlord’s entire face tightened, lips firmly drawn. No light touched his high, prominent cheekbones nor softened his angular face. He was Darkness itself, face shadowed by the waning afternoon sun. Gnarl waved a hand in the air.

“…And look, it seems to have bestowed a little gift upon you, Sire. You now possess the mental strength to control ten minions!”

“Ten?” A deep grunt escaped the Overlord. “What sorcery is this?”

“Little more than an augment to your power, great One. All you must do is meditate when you see fit, and the Tower Heart will assist you.”

The Overlord saw fit then to do so and waved his minions away. They carried his armour out of sight for further polishing, and Gnarl stepped into the shadows. Rising from his throne, the Overlord strode down the long bare walkway to the portal, where beneath still water the Tower Heart pulsed. There he sat and gazed into the depths, finding himself sucked into a state of inner peace. It was not a light, lovely tranquility that was bestowed upon him, oh, no. Similar to the feeling of crushing life and absorbing dark energy, there was a growing heat inside his body, its surge blooming to a stronger will.

By the time he awoke from his trance, night had fallen. Still, Gnarl watched. As did the Jester, out of sight.

  
~

 

When morning came, the Overlord was suited once more in his shiny armour that somehow fit him despite never having been measured for it. His current thoughts as he closed his eyes centered around what those minions had been doing to him while asleep. He’d only known a dark tomb and cold ground for his bed thus far, and did not like it at all.

‘ _Today we seek my comfort.’_ A short grunt affirmed his decision. Axe in hand, he stepped through the portal and was greeted by the exact same Mellow Hills of yesterday. Ten minions remained at his side minus Gnarl, whose presence was not missed. His voice echoed in the Overlord’s head.

 **“Testing, testing, one two? Is this thing working?”** The Overlord glanced around. Nothing but sheep, grass and minions. **“Can you hear me, Master? Oh… there you are!”** Gnarl’s shouting turned to joyous cry and he explained briefly of the Tower Heart’s long-distance communicative abilities. Over a fallen bridge the Overlord went, jogging with purpose. He saw old blood on the floor yet new sheep had taken the place of their fallen comrades, which had mysteriously disappeared.

 **“Now, Sire, the creatures around here are rather frisky, so they will have undoubtedly repopulated the area.”** The information meant little at first but it soon dawned on the Overlord what Gnarl meant. If a few sheep were left alive, they would produce more of their own kind. Quickly. Enough to stand as a renewable food source.

One single imperious gesture lead ten minions into a paddock, the gate broken and a new spawning pit not far in. Roughly twenty sheep and a few bouncing lambs gallivanted about, and every last one was slaughtered.

“Drag their corpses to the Gate.” said the Overlord, moving his hand back to guide his minions. “Shear wool for cloth and store the bodies for later use. We shall eat tonight.”

“Yes, Master!” The minions squealed with glee and happily took each sheep along in the dirt with them, back across the bridge to the Tower Gate. The sheep disappeared, then the minions came running back.

**“I suppose I shall look after that for you, as you have your minions with you now. An excellent choice, Sire. Now, head for that peasant village over there! Spree… revolting name.”**

Glad to have a little direction, the Overlord approached Spree. It was a tall, gated village with walls of upright wooden logs, and a few guard posts lined the inner perimeter. As he looked up, the Overlord caught sight of two men. They’d only just spotted him and one raised his voice in alarm.

“Halflings approaching! Get ready!”

The Overlord cocked his head to one side, listening for the sound of his minions rushing to protect from the apparent threat. They only snarled gibberish among themselves.

“Hang on! Those ain’t harflins! Lookit the one with tha’ helmet!” Beside the other man, one with a pitchfork in hand pointed to the Overlord. His friend wasn’t convinced.

“Hmmmm, could be two halflings holding up some armour. Yeah, I bet that’s it! I don’t trust those sneaky little wossnames.”

“Hmmmm, maybe you’re RIGHT.” Pitchfork was pointed at rather indignant Lord. “’Ere, prove you aint harflins and free our men from the camps down tha’ roooudd.”

Fury boiled in the Overlord as he was speaken to with suspicion and accent. He stormed down the road with minions in tow, slashing a fierce swipe across a nearby field of wheat. His gauntlet clipped the tallest stalks and suddenly from his palm came a fireball. It whooshed hot and quick into the field, setting the entire thing alight! He stepped back, momentarily shocked.

“Burn!!! Ahaha! Fire!” The minions jumped up and down in malicious glee. Then the screaming started. Rough, horrified voices shrieked and died as the halflings hidden in the field were scorched to blackened lumps. When the fire had died with little more dry wheat to kindle, the Overlord smirked. There running in the field (a little fast due to hot ground and bare feet) his minions went, while dark energy swam around him. The rush was there once more and he wanted to burn again. So, after the minions had collected seven halfling weapons and three crude helmets, they were off.

Just ahead was a white stone bridge, beyond it fields of golden wheat. More halflings ran across, straight for the wheat where they assumed position of ambush. One well-aimed fireball from the Overlord as he stood on the right side of the bridge set the field ablaze. He watched from the cliff face (as a river ran below the bridge, a dangerous fall) and listened to the various stages of terror. Burgeoning fear upon scent and sound. Choking coughs, hacked up lungs. Then pure anguish as flesh was stripped from bone, peeling and melting. The Overlord sat down in the grass just to take his time in savouring the pure carnage. Behind him, his minions smashed a few vases and crates that had been placed here, where apparently someone had set up camp. There was no tent, but a roast pig above a spit sat behind the Overlord, freshly cooked. He tore off a piece of it and chewed, offering the snack to his minions too. Within minutes, spirits were higher than ever and all the halflings were dead. Then the Overlord felt a tap on his leg.

“For youuuuu~!” A minion held up one huge triangular bottle full of sky-blue liquid, offering it with a hopeful smile. The Overlord snatched it and pulled off the top.

“What is this?”

The minion shrugged, abashed at being spoken to directly by his Master. He watched as the Overlord drank and finished off what he now knew to be a Magic Potion. His own spiritual energy increased and what exhaustion he’d felt after so much fire was now nonexistent.

The wheat fields smoked, burnt to the ground.

Onward they walked.

 

Beyond the wheat field and bending to the right, haystacks piled to the Overlord’s height stood by ecstatic farmers. Waving their tools around, they gave praise and enthusiasm. Then Gnarl’s voice crept into the Overlord’s mind.

 **“One last thing, Sire… Killing innocents, and I use the term loosely, increases your corruption level.”** In the middle of the dirt path, the Overlord stopped. To the left he glanced, eyeing a particularly ugly farmer.

 **“This attracts more Evil Energy which increases your powers. However, this is rarely suitable for establishing a long-term Evil plan. That requires people, living people. Gratitude comes with its own rewards.”** The longer he stared, the more foolish the man’s grin became.

“Thank ye, Lord!” The farmer had nothing to give but words, holding his pitchfork triumphantly. “Now those filthy halflings are gone, we can get back to work!”

“Good luck.” said the Overlord, his deep voice striking a moment of apprehension into the farmer. The clink of armour faded into the distance upon the departure of Evil. The farmers could be heard screaming at the sight of their burnt fields.

 _‘What insufferable cretins. They did not see my magnificent burning of their crops? Blind **and** stupid. What good worship would they give **me**?’_ In any case, the Overlord still demanded entry to Spree. So in light of razing the village at first sight, he played the game of ‘save-the-peasants’.  


	4. The Slave Camp

 

After defeating twenty halflings before a huge wooden gate, the Overlord received information from Gnarl.

**“Behind you is an arcane Blood-pit, Sire. There you can sacrifice your minions to regain your own health! Have no fear, your minions will gladly die for you… They’re very loyal…”**

_‘I have received no injury. There is little need.’_ The minions seemed glad at their Lord’s mental resolution and skipped along, with new weapons such as pikes and cutlasses in hand. Now stronger with sharper weapons and better armour (mostly bits of cloth for the body and fancy hats), they were ready to progress. All ten of them turned a wheel beside the gate, and slowly it rose to reveal a path into a shallow canyon. The steep incline of rocky hills at either side offered little light save for the sun above. It was midday, the perfect time for some nefarious deeds. Upon entering the slave camp however, there was little more the Overlord could do than laugh.

Bright red banners with pumpkins and the words “Obey” on them hung from poles high up. Men in rags carried stone and cut wood, working with grim looks on their unclean faces. One spotted the Overlord and cried “I’ve got calluses! My beautiful hands!” The other slaves only complained more. After sending his minions to loot every crate, barrel and storage medium in the camp, the Overlord looked at the callused slave. With hope and furrowed brow, the man peered up into glowing white eyes.

“Have ye got any moisturizer, Lord?”

The Overlord glowered down at him and promptly swung his axe in a wide arc. The man’s hands went flying along with blood spurting from sliced wrist. Dust puffed into the air at the sudden drop to knees of the wounded slave, banshee-like wailing coming to assault the ears of everyone. The Overlord bashed the slave’s open mouth with his armored knee and left him on the floor, sobbing. He could die on his own. There were more important things that needed doing.

Further into the slave camp, the amount of angry little halflings was almost overwhelming. From high positions the Overlord could not yet reach, they pelted him with hard, heavy rocks. They bounced off his steel helmet but some jerked his head as they hit the two evil spires atop.

“Rgh!” His hand shoved order to purpose and minions rushed around, going straight for the halflings. Mostly in this area were outposts made of logs and ramps much the same, with supply crates tucked away. While the minions fought, the Overlord smashed crates to find money and weapons, which he threw over to the ground in the middle of the camp. His minions could take what they wished from there.

A high, yowling cry caught his ear. One of his minions lay on the ground in pile of broken limbs, soon followed by another. His eyes widened.

_‘What? They’re not supposed to die!!’_ With a furious roar he charged straight for the halflings and decapitated three at once in a low sweep. His minions had taken a sudden backseat and watched, quivering. He turned to them.

“Go.” Not _all_ the halflings were dead.

Lifeforce and evil energy brimmed in the Overlord at the end of his massacre. He contemplated return to the brown spawning pit but it was now so far away, he couldn’t be bothered. He could fight alongside the eight minions he had left. They would surely appreciate it.

Torches lit gated prisons made of simple logs, the kind a good axe could split if given the chance. Inside there were trapped slaves, grabbing for freedom.

“Hey! Help us out!” They begged the Overlord and once freed, gave no thanks or acknowledgement. One screamed about a troll, and they all went running.

“We’ll help you slay the brute!”

The Overlord stood, stunned and fuming. Halflings came and cut down half of the slaves, and this he took amusement in until the halflings died without any lifeforce given. Rather, the _slaves_ now seemed energized. Ready for battle, even. They stole the halflings’ weapons and some tools laying around, then sprinted off.

**“No sense in dying when there are others willing to do it for you! Fear and awe  can be valuable commodities, Sire.”**

‘ _Oh, shut up. They neither fear me or hold any interest to my cause.’_ Gnarl’s words meant little to the Overlord’s momentarily cynical mind. One slave in particular though was gazing at the Overlord with a dreamy look and was promptly smacked in the head with the flat side of an axe.

_‘Ah, that felt good. Now, onto the final task. Killing a… troll, was it?’_

A gate went up as halflings turned a wheel atop a large cage. The ground began to shake. Steps, grunts and horrible smells erupted from the troll, ten times the Overlord’s size and covered in wobbly pale flesh.

“Get us out of here!” more slaves cried, but the Overlord paid them no mind, not for now. He rushed for the troll and ducked behind it just as a hand came to crush him, and shoved his axe right up the monster’s ass. His minions cheered and hacked away at thick ankles, while the peasants went stab-stab-stab with their pitchforks. Some managed to rend flesh and black blood spilled in copious amounts, bathing the minions in its oozy darkness. The Overlord was in fact _glad_ to have the black on his armour, as the shiny silver _had_ been glinting in his eyes when the sun caught certain angles on his majestic form.

“That troll ate my brother! Hurry, hurry! GET IT!” Slaves cheered and even more died against the enormous troll. The Overlord was busy slicing up the troll’s backside when he realized his stupid minions floundering at its feet, being easily knocked away by powerful hand swipe.

“You FOOLS! Get behind it!” Alas, direction had little effect as the moment the minions came close enough to strike, they did so regardless of where they were. The troll knocked _more_ of them aside until only two were left, and the Overlord had to set fire to the troll’s head with a well-aimed burst of magic. Once it was burnt and dead, lifeforce poured out of it, easily replacing the minion lives lost. The slaves weren’t so lucky, and they’d rather gotten in the way with their clumsy positioning and crappy fighting skills. _‘Oh well_ ,’ thought the Overlord. ‘ _At least they’re dead now. Their friends shall be happy to be free, I hope. And they better be grateful…’_

“Our liberator!” the slaves cried, much to the Overlord’s appreciation. He raised both hands in the air, standing amongst the filthy and free (and filthily free!) peasants. Watching them rejoice was a little offputting, however.

_‘Mere humans should not be so happy in my presence. Nay, they should respect me, fear me, for I am their Overlord, the controller of life and death.’_ Just as he was about to proclaim his evil will, a man waved to him.

“Hey, we don’t need this crane anymore. You take it.” There looming above was a huge crane, looking as they do with metal and levers.

**“Well… it is ours! Wretched creatures.”** Gnarl knew the crane had been stolen, and was glad for the Overlord to have retrieved it. Alas, the thing was too heavy for two minions to lift and it was such a long walk back to the spawning pit…

**“Quickly, Sire. Have it brought to the waypoint gate.”**

_‘I would if I had a few more minions…’_ The Overlord’s hands dropped to his sides, axe thudding at his leg. He glanced around. The peasants gazed with gratuitous smiles on their dumb faces, soon to be wiped with command.

“You. Lift it.” One strong finger pointed the peasants to lift the crane over to the nearby magic gate. They paused, unsure.

“Well, don’t you have your minions for that, Lord?”

“LIFT IT!” The Overlord bellowed at the weak former slaves, and all twelve of them rushed to assist the struggling minions. He stood back and watched the short journey to the Waypoint Gate, where the crane was set down and absorbed in light. The peasants cowered as their Lord strode forth. He said nothing to them and with minions at his side, vanished.

 

~

 

Back at the Tower, renovations were underway.

“Now that we have the Crane we can start to rebuild your tower, Sire.” Gnarl greeted the Overlord who stepped out of the portal, armour covered in blood.

“That Crane is just the job. Your minions are opening up the Dungeon! Do go see it, it’s so… soothing.”

“In time.” The Overlord could hardly walk for clutter around, wooden scaffolding and hardworking minions just about everywhere. He kicked some out of the way along with the Jester, who ran up to him crying “Saviour of the Tower Heart!” in a most whiny voice. His boot went back to the ground and there he stood, arm raised. His minions came to remove his armour, cleaning what putrid black blood they could from it. Gnarl tottered behind his Master, knobbly hands folding over themselves as he thought.

“Perhaps a little downtime, then? There is a meal and space prepared for you upstairs, if you wish. The rubble here has been cleared.”

The Overlord nodded and once free of restrictive armor, went upstairs. At the top of the spiralling grey was even _more_ drab stone, albeit shaped in a hallway with a few minions patching up cracks. Dusting and wiping, the area seemed to be of importance to need such rigorous cleaning. A small brown minion with a pumpkin on his head approached, bowing down.

“This way, Master! Roasted sheepies for you~!” Down the hall and right where it split, two rooms were on either side. One had already been cleaned, the one to the left where on the floor was a messily sewn sheepskin (free of blood and with tears in the material). The Overlord sat on it while his minion brought a steel plate with tender, sliced lamb atop.

_‘Ah, food. Finally.’_ He inclined his head in some form of gratitude and the minion smiled, doing a little happy dance.

“Anything else for the Master?”

He shook his head in dismissal. Once left alone, he picked at the meat and found it to be quite tasty, despite the lack of any strong flavour. Whoever had cooked this surely held skill with flame, and it was probably Gnarl who’d done the Overlord this service. As expected.

That night the Overlord slept with softness at his back and clean wool by his face, remnants of evil acts seeping from ripped skin into his mind. He slaughtered his enemies and innocent animals alike, and now slept and ate their desecrated bodies. Even if it was just sheep, it felt _good_. Well, in the positive and fulfilling sense – there was no righteousness or justice to be felt here. You know what I mean.

 


	5. Entrance to Spree

The next day, a refreshed Overlord along with his well-fed and geared minions set out for Spree. More sheep died on the way along with some pesky hidden halflings, who still hadn’t given up. They’d lost their slaves. Now their lives were forfeit. Upon reaching the gate to Spree, a villager at the watchtower called out and the gate went down.

“You’ve saved us! Our boys are safely home.” Like most of the villagers, a farmer praised the figure in shining armour. “Oh a fine job, my Lord!”

Minions cleared the area by the gate of crates and looted a cart full of gold for their watchful Master. Ignoring the peasants, the Overlord strode further into Spree. Generic medieval houses stood around along with a nearby tavern, some pumpkin-filled gardens and here and there, pens of sheep. Making haste for the tavern, the Overlord saw his minions rush ahead and down the flagons of mead left on the table. He picked up one himself, drinking it without care for who it was really there for. Pah. Everything in this town was for _him_ now, as he’d saved all those citizens from becoming slaves. If only they knew what he had in store for them…

A jolly man with a dark tan came out of the tavern. “Ah, it’s nice to see folks enjoying themselves for a change! Quite a wild bunch, aren’t they?” Now the minions were thoroughly drunk and line-dancing on the table, arms linked. The man sighed. “We’ve had some tough times. The halflings have ransacked most of the farms, and everyone’s turned up in Spree… on _my_ doorstep!”

Mildly interested, the Overlord stepped closer.

“They voted me Mayor, you see. I got the drinks, yeah, but no food to feed them!”

“Do you not see the sheep outside, ready for cleaver and spice?”

The Mayor was taken aback by the Overlord’s tone. He gathered himself, eyes darting around. “Ah, ah yes, I know they’re there, but it’s just so _dangerous_ for us to leave Spree!”

The Overlord was silent. Disapproval radiated from his being like a dark, depressing cloud.

“Look, I really need some… er… er valiant knights, to get us back the food the Halflings stole from us.” Mayor Archie gestured to the right, at the path leading to another of Spree’s gates. “Their village lies to the East. I bet they’re keeping it there! Go on, full tummies for us equals fuller pockets for you, if you get my drift.”

After much staring and consideration, the Overlord decided a bit of adventuring would suit his tastes just fine. As he ran through the village, peasants cheered in his (yet unknown) name.

“Thank you for freeing us!”

“I’m gonna name a pumpkin after you!”

“Go get those herflins’, Lawd!”

On the Overlord went, finding past the Eastern gate many more halflings to slaughter. The further he went the more he realized the little shits were starting to wise up. Though they still stood in place like the absolute idiots they were, many took position atop hills and outposts, throwing down rocks. The Overlord roasted as many as he could, until his magical energy was exhausted and the halflings still lived, albeit with charred skin. His minions could not reach, and they were too stupid to throw with any proper aim. Growling, the Overlord continued to run with the sound of his heart beating in his ears. Up a path and leaving mostly dead halflings behind, he came to a small hill with a round door in it. A halfling house. One quickly ransacked by the minions, who came out with fire pokers and tableware as new weapons. Most still had long pointy things to stab with, while others knew to relish quick, painful slashes. The Overlord was given no potion to heal his current aches and banished thought of weakness aside. Down the hill and beyond the impenetrable wooden fence (no taller than his knees), the Overlord saw a horrible sight. Halflings partying with wine and song, and worst of all _stolen food_.

 **“Looks like they’re preparing a party down there. We should hurry up Sire, don’t want to miss it.”** Gnarl’s voice sang with mischief, urging the Overlord to make haste.

 _‘I have the energy to kill with hand and axe yet. We shall see who is left to celebrate after wine has turned to blood and food the flesh of all.’_ The Overlord threw himself into the fray, his minions ganging up on the halflings and forgetting to take out the distant rock-throwers first. As a result many died, but the lifeforce from one dead troll and several other halflings made up for the loss. As the minions turned a wheel to open a set of large doors, the Overlord heard his advisor’s voice again.

**“Looks like you’ll be able to fit your magnificent and imposing presence in through there, Lord.”**

Complimented, the Overlord preened. It _was_ nice to have a few words to distract from his present bothers. Through the huge round doors he went into the Halfling Homes, where a cavelike system of hallways connected hundreds of rooms. Basically an expanded hobbit-hole. You know.

The floors were of light polished wood and the walls cream, though brown patterns and planks offered decoration along with border to the doors. Most of the circular archways were wide open and enough for several fat halflings to fit through, with enough height for the majestic Overlord too. What struck him however was the sight of so much _food_ , just lying around. Silver platters were piled high on long tables just about everywhere, and the ones that were yet to be washed teetered dangerously close to collapse. On other trays were dishes of fruit and meat, bread set aside in fine wicker baskets. There were baguettis and spaghettis, pasta and cereal too. Wine, mead, ale, the lot of it in steel tankards just waiting for consumption. The Overlord thought about it.

_‘What is with this obscene amount of food? Surely those tiny halflings do not eat **this** much…’_

**_‘_ ** **Alas Sire it is not the case, though those overgrown weevils do quite enjoy stuffing their stupid faces. Deep in these burrows lives Melvin Underbelly, one of those wretched Heroes.’**

_‘A Hero…! I shall END him for what he has done. Nobody fucks with my Tower and gets away with it.’_

**_“_ ** **Mmmm, that’s the spirit! Keep going and you will surely find him. He is rather… hard to miss.”**

The Overlord went on through the labyrinth of rooms, pillaging all the while. Occasionally he sent his minions to send particularly interesting objects back to the Waypoint Gate, which was a little far back and close to the entrance. What few halflings dared approach were swiftly cut down, the Overlord placing his minions to guard doors and kill anyone who came near.

On the way to Melvin (whose position was yet unknown), the Overlord came by five halflings sleeping in their beds, which were inset in the walls. He walked up to one after leaving his minions by the stairs and examined it. Round cheeks and curly hair. A squished up face and little button nose. A slit throat now, as hand went to mouth and sharp metal-covered fingertip dug deep into flesh. Sickening gurgles bubbled with lots of thick red blood onto the halfling’s chest, most painting the Overlord’s left gauntlet. His axe rested while his hands did the work, and the other halflings slept. Every one of them he killed, and pulled the head off the last one. He gave the spine to a minion to use as a weapon, and was thanked dearly for it.

“For me? Ooohohooo!” the minion clapped his hands together and received the spine, held together by warm, oozing vertebrae.

Pleased with his work, the Overlord sauntered off with axe once more in hand and minions at his back. He came across some trapped peasants, likely with family in Spree.

“Please! Oh! Get us out of here! It’s the wheel over there.” Behind sleeping halfling guards and metal bars, the men pleaded.

“I heard those halflings say they’re going to serve us to Melvin!”

“Oh! I don’t wanna be luuuuunch!”

“Enough of your whining.” grumbled the Overlord, sending his minions past some shelves to go and pillage one halfling hole (not _that_ kind) before turning the wheel. It creaked loudly enough to wake the guards, who were pelted with apples from one vengeful Overlord. The minions brought sacks of gold for their Master, presenting them along with potions while proclaiming “For the Overlord!” and “Treasure~~!”

The bars lifted and now the peasants were free.

“Oh thank you, thank you!!!” they cried, rushing to the Overlord and gesticulating excitedly. “Hey, those halflings brought a load of food down here… You looking for it?”

The Overlord nodded. Once directed by the peasants, he shoved them away so they could get a head start in escape. Waving their arms around like complete idiots they ran. More walking and a few snacks stolen from laden tables later, the minions pointed something out. Gnarl’s voice came through at once.

“ **What a fine specimen!** ” Standing in the archway with his helmet spikes touching the top, one curious Overlord got an eyeful of garish orange. Beyond the wooden platform that was meant to be floor, a huge sunken garden with fresh grass held an enormous pumpkin in the center. **“It must have taken them years to grow.”** The Overlord walked closer, nearly tripping over an ill-placed barrel. He crushed it beneath his boot and sent his minions around to destroy everything else whilst approaching the pumpkin. **“Don’t you just want to… smash it up?”** Gnarl’s cackling filled the Overlord’s mind with renewed malice. At full strength due to potion power and magical mayhem, the Overlord descended into the garden crushing yellow flowers and thin grass underfoot. He raised his axe high and began chopping, pieces of pumpkin flying everywhere. Halflings poured from their homes screaming nonsense in their foul language, but the Overlord used his left hand to quickly direct his minions around. Some died, some lived, and many weapons were obtained from the dead halflings. Into houses the minions went, slaughtering and stealing things for their Master. When the pumpkin was reduced to pulp and the Overlord’s pockets filled with coin, he noticed something standing amidst the carnage. A yellowish piece of a totem pole, glowing white from within. He had the minions bring it to the nearest waypoint, where he paused as Gnarl explained of controlling fifteen minions.

_‘Ah, when I return I shall meditate then. More control is always good.’_

The Overlord still had a terrible, pounding headache from having his head pelted with rocks and remembering those grievances, he went further in. The Halfling Homes were abuzz with energy, and so much of it went into the Overlord as he and his minions killed every last enemy. Soon they came to a much hotter environment, and it wasn’t just because the Overlord was lookin’ hella fine. These were the kitchens, dark and steaming with many cooks preparing food atop metal grates.

 **“Reds!”** Gnarl exclaimed. Just beneath the grates in a river of lava were several minions, similar to the browns but of a different colour. **“Look after them, and they’ll look after you. Just like one big Evil family.”**

“What are you doing under there…?” the Overlord muttered, leaning over a rusty old rail to have a look. The reds jumped around, crying for their Master.

“Mastaaa! Save us! Save us!” It appeared they were being used to power the cooks’ovens, and if they didn’t there were buckets of water available to torture them. Fire was their element, their heart and their life. Now they were being exploited for it.

The Overlord nodded. _‘I will bring them to my side. It is where they belong, not serving these halfling cooks.’_

Much burning and one-sided fighting later (the cooks could barely turn around before their arteries were cut by sharp minion steel) the Overlord had a few moments to rest. The browns stuck hands through the grates and pulled up reds, whose little skulls were only _just_ able to fit through the holes. They rubbed their grazed ears, shook the stress from their bodies and gathered around their Master. Eager to see what they could do, the Overlord directed them to the other kitchens, this one made for preparing desserts. At the end of it all, there was less sweet scent in the place for favour of blood.

**“There was fire, there was carnage. And now they’re all dead! Well done, Sire.”**

 

~

 

By the time the Overlord had exploded Melvin the meaningless Hero, he was ready to call it a day. His victory felt frustrating rather than sweet, as Melvin had mocked him with words of certain death. There were still six other heroes to kill.

_‘Another time. I wish to return…’_

**“At once, Sire. Just find the Waypoint Gate and the peasants’ food… heheehh.”**

With a heavy sigh, the Overlord trudged through the rest of the Halfling Homes with orange fat dripping from Melvin’s explosion off his armour. The minions still had their usual enthusiasm and ran ahead at their Master’s command. One of them however came back from around a corner, gibbering at the Overlord’s feet.

“Master! Master! Peasant people! There~!”

The Overlord straightened up, peeked around the corner and decided he wanted nothing to do with them. Then, a swarm of his minions returned veeeeeery slowly. They carried several sacks of grain supported by a large pallet, with other things tied up. The peasants in the hallway rejoiced.

“Oh, you’ve found it! Oh, Spree is SAVED! Thank you, Lord!”

The Overlord blinked. “What?”

“If you’d just have your little creatures put it over there, we’ll take it up to Spree.”

Before a choice could be made, Gnarl interrupted. **“That food would provide you with a substantial amount of lifeforce, Sire.”**

_‘Lifeforce, hm? More minions and strength for me, I suppose. And I will tire of eating sheep soon enough. Yes, we shall keep it.”_

**“An excellently _evil_ plan, Lord. However, we must first dispose of the… witnesses.” ** Gnarl somehow knew of the expectant peasants and well, the Overlord wasn’t about to let a few worthless peons get in his way. He stepped before his minions carrying the food and handblasted one strong fireball into the face of a man. The others flew back, scorched and screaming.

“You heartless wretch, we’re starving!” a woman cried, followed by several more and some angry farmers.

 _‘I care not! Die in your homes or at my will, you cowardly fools!’_ The Overlord swung his massive axe cleaving skulls and bodies apart. More and more evil energy filled his black heart until he was cackling at the sheer destruction of it all. His ten minions soon came back from the Waypoint Gate, absent the food. They waited eagerly for his command.

“More.” He growled, spreading both arms. “Take it all. Bring every last edible scrap from this place to the Gate.”

 **“My…”** Gnarl could almost be heard stroking his beard in contemplation. **“Feeling a bit hungry are we, Sire?”**

‘ _Shut up. The lifeforce is needed.’_

**“Of course, Sire. Of course.”**

So the minions brought back food to the Waypoint gate in baskets and crates, barrels and sacks. Some even brought a curious red object, apparently the hive of the Red Minions. The Overlord wondered how he’d missed it but cared not, for it was in his possession now. The reds were ecstatic to receive it, and cheered whilst lighting up the place. It was lucky that most of the food and drinks had been taken before the Halfling Homes were set on fire. The minions along with their Master went to the Waypoint Gate, while everything burned.

**~**

Upon returning from Halfling Homes, the Overlord all but collapsed into his chipped throne. Bloodied wool cushioned his armored body and as he sprawled, minions attempted to unbuckle his greaves. Then his gauntlets, and one climbed into his lap to reach for his helmet. He allowed it, the minion being careful not to scrape the one who held his life in hand. But then, the minion paused. It tilted its head to the side, ears drooping.

“Master…”

The Overlord cracked one eye open, too tired to speak. His head _ached_ from having been pelted with rocks by those accursed halflings, and he could still hear the metallic ring in his ears. It appeared the minion gazed at him in awe, silent adoration taking hold of its exaggerated expression. But it was not still for much longer. Its clawed hands reached and came to the sides of the Lord’s head, massaging there gently. A fierce hand swipe threw the creature into a nearby pillar.

“Get your filthy hands off me.” The Overlord growled, voice thunderous death rolling in his throat. “Gnarl. Flay him.”

Gnarl inclined his head respectfully and shuffled over to the frightened minion.

“Maaaaster! Pleeeeease!” It wailed.

The Overlord only glared, then rubbed the side of his head. Great. Now it felt like ants were in his hair. Considering the hygiene habits of minions, he probably had an entire colony at the roots.

 _‘I **will** not have those things touching me, pain or not. I need… servants. **Human** servants. Yes.’_ After a long day he had little patience for mistakes and sighed. Downstairs the food was being put away, while renovations had stopped for the moment. The Throneroom at least looked decent enough, and the throne itself was comfortable to sit on. The minions had done well… save for that last one.

By himself, the Overlord removed his breastplate and cast it aside. Finally some peace and quiet.

In a corner, the Jester watched. “Most wise Master…” he whispered, tapping his fingers together. The memory of pain was still recent, and he was none too eager to be beaten to near death again.

 


	6. Maidens and Servants and Slaves, oh my!

The Overlord awoke with little more than a dull ache to remind him of yesterday’s pain. He loitered upstairs, pacing circles around his sheepskin bed-rug. Of course, that just wasn’t acceptable.

“Don’t dilly-dally, Sire! Go out and smite something!” Gnarl watched from the door with a disapproving scowl on his face.

The Overlord snarled at him. “You _dare_ command me?”  
Immediately, Gnarl put his hands up in defence. “No no, I wouldn’t _dare_ dream of telling you how to do your job… Still, there are deeds that need doing.”

“Like what?”

Gnarl began to list things on his wrinkled little fingers. “There’s a smelter in Mellow Hills we need to forge you armour and weapons, plus the people of Spree are surely wondering about their food… and not to mention, as renovations will soon be done you may wish to think about acquiring a mistress for your Tower.”

“A mistress?” The Overlord was taken aback. _‘For whatever reason would I want one of those?’_

“Yes Sire, a Mistress. Among other things. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone pretty to pay you compliments whenever you wish? Like the Jester, only less infuriating.”

The Overlord actually thought about it, placing a hand to his square jaw. After a long silence he nodded. “Might prove useful. Right, bring some food up and have my armour ready.”

“At once, Sire.” Gnarl left to do his Master’s will whilst wondering why the Overlord was so talkative today. Perhaps he _was_ capable of conversation, when the situation required it.

After a breakfast of scorched bread and bacon, the Overlord set off for Mellow Hills. He’d barely materialised at the gate when a voice called to him.

“Dark Lord, in the hope that you might have pity on us poor wretches, we offer you our finest maiden!” To the left was a groveling peasant man, his thick country accent spurting out words to appease the Overlord. He gestured with head bent, on his knees beside two tall sticks. Strung up like a Jesus between the sticks was a woman, squirming for her life.

“I ain’t a maiden! They don’t call me Haystack Harriet for nothing!”

“She’s clearly hysterical!” The man put his hands above his head and bowed up and down with his whole body. “Aahh, o-overcome by your magnificent visage, Lord!”

Very pleased with the offering, the Overlord considered the maiden. She was no older than eighteen, with sandy blonde hair and gently curving breasts. A typical lady, one apparently untouched by lecherous hands if the peasant man was to be believed. Haystack Harriet stared at the Overlord, then averted her gaze. The pure evil was too much for her innocent heart to bear. The Overlord smacked at the poles, then flicked his wrist. Two minions grabbed Harriet and threw her wriggling form with poles, rope and all onto the circular Gate. It absorbed her, and Gnarl confirmed.

**“I shall… keep her occupied until you return. I’m sure there are more maidens about you might like to find.”**

_‘Mm. Have an iron brand made, so I might mark my property. Something… suitably evil.’_

**“Oh yes, Sire! That sounds like a wonderful plan. I shall get to work on it right away.”**

The Overlord, satisfied with his instruction bade the peasant man farewell with an imperious gesture and strode off. With ten browns and five reds (the result of a night’s meditation) he saw fit to kill a few sheep for fun. However, not all those in the paddock bleated in fear! One whimpered, and it was not a sheep but a woman.

“I… I won’t go with you, you sheep killer!” she cried accusingly and ran away towards the cliff. The Overlord sent his minions after her and one clubbed her in the head with a frying pan he’d stolen from the kitchens. She was carried to the nearby Waypoint Gate, too. The peasant man watched from his hiding spot in some bushes.

On the Overlord went! _‘I wonder how they know of my actions? They seem to be afraid. As they should be.’_ Sheep slaughter, pumpkin smashing and wheat-field burning along with the smacking around of liberated slaves surely hadn’t gone unnoticed. Word traveled, not all witnesses were killed, and thus the Overlord had a somewhat negative reputation in Spree. Most afeared were the farmers though, as they knew just how easily the menacing, armoured figure could destroy their lives. Thus, they offered up maidens. Spree however was a different story.

“Keep those creatures aweey from meh!” Surly and forceful, a woman in a tight blue dress pointed at the minions. The Overlord would not see his loyal browns and reds insulted, and hit the woman in the head with his axe. She screamed and at once five men came running, their angry faces met with blistering balls of fire.

“We are not fit to be incinerated by you, Sire!” one cried, before bolting in the opposite direction from the Overlord.

“Hmph.” The Overlord let his minions drag the newly captured wench to the Gate, and the few nearby peasants turned a blind eye – they did not want to be burned to death.

Up the path and around a few houses which were looted twice, the Overlord took a bag of coin from one minion and shoved it in his pocket. Here, the peasants had only heard screaming and looked at him with suspicion. One particular man though shielded himself with a woman in a white petticoat.

“You can have my wife, Lord! You can even have my sheep!”

“Johnny, no! You can’t-” The woman was left husbandless as minions carried her away. The Overlord cared little for maidenhood or temperament – in the end, all would serve him and all that mattered was their skill in doing so. Appearance and cleanliness were also important. Slaves were dirty things, but servants were not. He hoped to see Gnarl break any who rebelled, so there wouldn’t be too much trouble.

The maidens of Spree continued to resist.

“You don’t want me, you want my sister! She’s the pretty one.”

The Overlord took them both.

“Not me, Sire. I’m feeling rather… itchy.”

She was slaughtered on the spot.

“Spree’s my home! Please don’t take me away…”

It only took one minion to carry her.

“My brother’ll get you for this.”

Her entire house was burnt to the ground, with family still inside. It was then that the Overlord came round to Spree’s front gates, which were closed. There stood Archie the mayor and several male peasants.

“You’ve taken food from the mouths of babies, you hear me? Babies! I’ve seen some evil things on my travels but you and those… creatures… you’re something else.”

“You need sortin’ out, son.” A peasant agreed.

“That’s it, I’ve had enough!”

“Get him!” They all charged save for Archie, who ran away flailing his arms. The Overlord hadn’t expected this but dodged a swift pitchfork that could’ve dented his breastplate. In silence he sicced what browns he had available on the villagers and got behind them, to slice their legs off. He then called his minions back, and watched the peasants squirming on the ground. _‘Their agony will end their pitiful, traitorous lives soon enough. Now, about that mayor…’_ He turned slowly to see Archie gaping with horror from the top floor of his inn.

“You’re not welcome here no more, you evil blighter! Get out of my town!”

The Overlord narrowed his eyes, and raised his hand. Horror turned to pure fear as the terrified Archie got a face full of flaming hot glass, both slicing and melting into his flesh. Then as he rolled around out of sight, the reds set fire to the inn. Balls of flame worked well on these people, it seemed. The Harasser of Humans turned to leave, glaring down at all the fleeing peasants. None dared stand in his way now. He was the Suppressor of Spree. The Overlord. Now, according to the Jester hijacking Gnarl’s connection with him, **Servant Snatcher.**

 

~

 

The Overlord returned to his tower. Seven maidens and one mature woman stood lined up along the clean path. Said path lead to the newly restored throne, which still had its sheepskin covering for the Dark Lord’s comfort. He quite liked that title, **_Dark Lord_**. It was so… wonderfully cruel, he thought. The true Demon of Destruction side in him was yet to be revealed and he already had the title for it. Jester pranced up and proclaimed, “Hail O most wise Master! Your Slaves are ready to be branded!”

The Overlord kicked him in the head. “Servants. Not Slaves.”

“Yeeesss…” Gnarl mused over by the side of all the ladies. Behind each one, a minion held her ankles to prevent escape. They were all obedient, strong browns with a bit of muscle on their scrawny little arms. The Overlord folded his hands behind his back and strode down the path. He wanted a red carpet there when all the renovations were done. There was still some scaffolding up for the purpose of hanging banners and adjusting balconies. All perfection for the most persnickety Overlord.

“What of them?” asked the Overlord, requesting information from Gnarl.

“They’re a curious bunch, Sire. Harriet here does not seem to be the maiden she was proclaimed to be, which is quite a bother.”

“He… he stuck his fingers into me, the old pervert! Let me out of here! I won’t stand for none of this!” Haystack Harriet’s loose tongue (the one used for speech) flapped to the Overlord’s distaste.

“You are nothing more than a lie, a false claim to gather favour. I shall enjoy breaking your _spirit_.” Hissing his last words, the Overlord held out his hand. “The Brand. Give it to me.”

A little nervous but resolute nonetheless, Gnarl nodded. To his right was Giblet, the allround useful brown. He held up a black iron pole with a flat section on the end that held words. “For you. No smelter, reds make writing. Master like?”

“We shall see.” said the Overlord, and held the brand to one side. One of the reds that had accompanied him to Spree lit up the end until it glowed white-hot, and the ladies gasped.

“No, don’t burn me I- AIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!” Harriet’s shriek destroyed the ears of many minions, who cringed and cried. Down on the side of her right calf, flesh sizzled like the frying meat that it was. The Overlord actually felt a little hungry at the scent. He gestured for Giblet to bring him a snack, and twirled the brand in his hand. The writing now clear in painfully raised red said _Servus Imperito_ on Harriet’s leg. He squinted.

“Is that Latin?”

“Why yes it is! Latin is the ultimate languge of eeeevil, seen in ancient inscriptions and the Devil May Cry series. It means ‘Servant of the Overlord’, though the first part can also mean ‘Slave’ if you wish.”

“Slavery for the useless ones, I shall say. Have any further brands been made?”

“There are some test pieces, yes. They do not have any handles attached, unfortunately. Just some roman numerals-”

“Give me one.”

Gnarl reached into his grubby pocket and pulled out a small black **I**. The workmanship wasn’t too bad, considering the lack of a proper forge. No moulds had been used either, as tooling marks were very clear from the pound of hammer against black iron.

The Overlord handed the **I** over to a red, then pushed Harriet’s head down. Her knees buckled as she fell to the floor, weeping in agony. How her suffering pleased him! There was only now to be more. He beckoned for the red to press the **I** to her neck, right on her jugular where it would be visible.

“Got it!” The red’s touch naturally inflamed the metal and it was pressed without care to the indicated spot. Harriet jerked and yowled, and one of the other ladies fainted. The Overlord went over to the body on the floor and held out his brand again. This one was number 3, and branded thrice with the **I.** Also to her leg was she designated a servant, along with the others. After branding the last, number **VIII** with a little creative positioning, the Overlord’s duty was complete.

“You are all _mine_.”

“I belong to nerhbeddy!” spat number 4, crossing her arms in defiance. She’d not appreciated having her skirt hiked up and flesh burnt in the slightest, and was absolutely fuming. “Oh, wait until I get my hands on you…” Her voice was a hefty thing befitting an angry spinster rather than a sixteen year old girl. Come to think of it, she _did_ look like she’d done a lot of hard work… There was no softness to her hands or face, save for what femininity her long hair offered.

The Overlord stood in front of her. She’d not shed tear or blood for brand, this number **IV.** With the muscles at her arms and legs, she looked like one mean fighter.

“You shall clean for me, Four.” Complete authority set his command in stone. Four screamed at him.

“I ain’t doin none o that! And me name’s not Four, it’s Illythia-”

“Four.” The Overlord was calm, his face still in shadow and helm glinting in the torchlight. “I…”

“What, yer gonna kill me? Not scared, nopety nope nooooehhhh-”

“ **DO** NOT INTERR _UPT_ ME!” The heavy dark hand of the Lord connected with Four’s throat. She gasped as her head hit the back of a pillar and the minion holding her ankles scampered away.

“Kill! Kill!” it chanted. The Overlord held out his hand. The minion gave him its little dagger.

“Ghhhkk…!” Four was choking on her own tongue, until her mouth was forced open by unforgiving grip at her jaw. The Overlord’s hands were so large that he could easily crush a human skull within them. With his one hand holding her there, he raised the dagger and sliced.

“HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHRRGH!!” Four screeched at the top of her lungs as her tongue was cut out, and subsequently fed into her gaping maw. Though it hadn’t solved her attitude problem, it certainly did something for those nasty words.

“Tell me little Four… do you like sewing?”

Four could not respond and whimpered, clutching her throat and face.

“Speak ill-timed again and see yourself acquainted with my needles and thread. Gnarl! Take her to the Spawning Pit. It needs to be cleaned.”

“Yes, Sire! Huehuehuehue…” Gnarl gleefully dragged Four out of the line and along the throneroom hall to the stairs nearest the throne. Down against her will she went.

The Overlord turned to the rest of his servants, many quivering in fear and others glaring at the floor.

“You shall all attend me and take orders from Gnarl when I am not present.” He looked to Gnarl and nodded.

“Yes! Serving the Dark Master is your number one priority!” Gnarl beckoned for all the servants to follow him, and asked some browns to carry Three. “I shall teach them in the ways of obedience, Sire.” He winked at the Overlord, his fuzzy white eyebrows twitching. The Overlord was glad to have all this done for him and _smiled_.

 

~

 

In the morning, the Overlord awoke to see a minion standing guard outside his room. There hadn’t been a door set into the semicircular archway yet, but the Overlord trusted his privacy was well kept. The minions were too stupid to do anything bothersome, anyway.

He rose and rubbed his face, sighing out a heavy breath.

_‘I wonder what I can do today…? Perhaps a check on the servants would be proper. I’ve never had anything of the sort before, but I know what I expect of them.’_

“You.”

The minion jumped and snapped a hand to his head in quick salute. “Master!”

“Fetch me something to eat, and a strong coffee. I would speak with Gnarl… regarding the servants.”

Nodding at once despite still processing the orders, the minion said “Yessss!” and scurried off. Then the Overlord wondered why he needed guards in his own tower.

_‘Ah, I suppose it’s for my convenience. He’s probably there to take commands if I need anything. Mm.’_

He yawned and ran a hand through his long, straight black hair. Tones of red like the fires of hell lit highlights here and there, no curtains yet present on the window to the right. The Overlord stood up and shoved off the extra sheepskin he’d used as a blanket, and peeked out. At least there was glass here, despite it being a little dusty. There was a dank, musky scent in the room as no fresh air had entered, save for what cycled through the throneroom and floated upstairs. The Overlord quite liked his cozy little domain, if all the black spikes and menacing wallpaper trims could be considered so. He _owned_ the place, and all its surrounding land. Soon, it would properly look the part.

Little feet with claws tapping came down the hall. In walked Gnarl with the guard minion at his side, the former with a chain in hand and latter holding a plate.

“For youuuu!” The minion sped up and bowed, holding up the plate as high as he could. The Overlord bent to take it then realized something. Another figure had entered.

Silently approaching was a servant on the end of Gnarl’s long chain, number Three with her head down. In both hands she held a steaming cup of black coffee, the liquid so dark it looked evilly bitter. Just the way the Dark Lord apparently liked it, as he snatched it from her the moment she was within reach. Without spilling a drop he gulped down the boiling drink and sighed.

“Who made this?”

Gnarl gestured to the girl. “Three here apparently was a barista, or the ancient equivalent back in Spree. Is it good?”

A hefty shrug was all that came in reply. Gnarl took this opportunity to smack Three on the thigh in some form of punishment. She only sniffled, eyes fixed to the floor.

“So. What progress have you made?” asked the Overlord, eating the eggs and chicken that made them with his hands. He tossed a piece down for the minion who was eyeing his plate.

“Much progress, Sire. I have not slept all night!” Gnarl clicked his finger claws together. “They understand the basics of unconditional servitude, as it’s not very hard. Having been peasant _women_ , they said they were _used_ to serving their husbands! Hah!”

The Overlord waved his hand back and forth, urging the Minion Master to get to the point.

“One is quite feisty but seems like she’ll serve loyally, provided you treat her well. Two is glad to be away from her house and will do anything you ask, while Three here is a broken little wretch – didn’t need much work, this one. Four is still in the Spawning Pits, and gave no complaint for her duties…. Nyehehehehehh.”

The Overlord smirked at that. As expected for a tongueless wench.

“Five and Six are the sisters who will not be seen apart, and work well together as if sharing some stupid bond of trust or friendship. Pah! They will not be parted, unless you wish to torture them somewhat. A wise idea, if I might add. They seem to hold little respect. Now Seven, you killed her whole family so she has nothing to live for, but I caution staying away from her as she is quite unstable. Like a fart stewing for days! Hohoh.”

Pause was given as the Overlord set his food down. “Go on.”

“Eight was the married one, and is skilled in the arts of… fleshy pleasures. So she says, but I haven’t tested her for myself. You might like the honour, Sire.”

“Mh.” The Overlord nodded. His eyes locked onto Three, who still stood there, quivering. “Catch.” he said, and threw his empty cup to her. She fumbled and caught it with her arms, then looked at him. His eyes roved from her face to her toes, taking in her manner of posture and dress. This quivering little thing seemed too afraid and cold to do anything other than what she was told. This pleased the Dark Lord, who gestured to Gnarl. “Her clothes. Your design?”

“Of course. I do have an eye for eeevil clothing, you know. Only the most fitting rags for easy movement and convenience! You will be able to tell the state of all your servants’ health just by looking at them!” Said ‘clothing’ was only a strip of brownish cloth around the breasts to keep them from jumping around too much, and one at the waist in some form of a skirt. The Overlord had an idea and beckoned to Gnarl.

“Leave.” he said to Three, waiting until she’d left with her chain dragging behind her. His glowing whitish yellow eyes cast light upon Gnarl’s face. “Harass them at will to further break them down. I would have them relish my contact and the absence of yours. They will fear me, and love me at once. You shall do this.”

“MMmmm, yes. Yes, Sire, I shall.” What a wonderful plan this seemed to crotchety old Gnarl, who loved to get his hands on soft soft ladyflesh. A little surprise stripping and minion parties would do the servants well – and many other evil things that one would be stoned to death for should they speak of them.

“Do not lay hand upon Eight, however. I would see her in my chambers, tonight. And a proper bed here, too.”

“We shall have it made for you, Lord.”

Satisfied, the Overlord straightened up and dismissed the two minions. Taking the plate, the brown whispered “Thank you Master~!” and scampered out.

Today was to be a mere distraction to keep the Overlord out of the Tower, until his room was in a proper state. He had sixty browns available for the job. It was only a matter of time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably mention at this point (and hey, thanks for still being here after all that nastiness!) that there will be quite the degree of violence against women in this fic. Now, if you’re STILL here – know that in the game, the Overlord’s primary servants are ladies and being an evil bastard, I think he would mistreat them out of sadism alone. The Overlord does not hate women (neither do I) and if he had male servants, he would smack them around too. Dude has no mercy for errant folks in his domain. So um yeah in case you think there’s rabid misogyny at play here, there ain’t. It’s the Overlord shitting on his poor, weakened servants. Believe me, I feel bad for doing this. MUH REALISM ;A;


	7. Smelting Supplies

_‘Could this job get any easier?’_ thought the Overlord whilst holding up left hand to procure fifteen minions. Five reds and ten browns killed sheep after sheep while the Lord of Darkness leaned on a fence, eyes half lid. The sun really was quite a bother today but he was content to relax a little in the shade. He was pleased to find further shade a short ways from Spree, where a forest could be seen looming up over the hill. When he neared the forest however (and while his minions decimated the huge paddock of sheep to the left), he came across some farmers. Recalling a few browns, he stood majestically tall. His staredown had little effect on the brainless peasants, who waved their pitchforks around.

“Darn elves! The forest’s out of control! Just look at that overgrown menace!”

“Hyuk hyuk hyuk oh hey there Mister Dark Lord! Think ya can help us?”

The Overlord pushed past them and had all his minions follow. Fire prevented further passage into the forest but the reds extinguished it soon enough – rather, they _absorbed_ the heat into their bodies and grew stronger as a result. A little path swept away from the forest and into sunlight, a nice diversion for the curious Overlord. It was up that path and by a brick wall that he found the Smelter, a huge thing that looked like the thruster of a jet. Well, if jets existed in these days.

Twelve minions lifted it and the Overlord waited for them to carry it to the gate. It took some time, and by then he’d occupied himself with carving pretty patterns into one of the peasants’ faces. A light snack of bloody flesh later, the minions returned along with Gnarl’s voice.

**“Excellent work, Sire! My, you’re efficient today! Have you anything you’d like to be forged?”**

_‘A likeness of my helmet to brand the other side of my servants’ necks. In case anyone who sees them can’t read, that should be enough to let them know who they belong to.’_

**“Yessss… a most wise idea.”**

 

Now, the Overlord could truly focus on adventuring. He moved for the forest, but something stopped him. The smell of smoke, and the sound of chaos. Screaming. Crackling. _Death._ It called him like flies to a pile of shit and he buzzed on quick feet all the way into Spree.

“It’s him! Bow, bow down! Bow quickly!” A peasant dropped to his knees after alerting his friends and everyone the Overlord passed prostrated in fear. The clank of armour and stomping boots faded to the East, where the Overlord saw a man half mad.

“Castle Spree is under siege, it’s burning! The demons… they came… they came out of the air.” His crooked teeth and bulging eyes made him look like more of a demon than anything the Overlord had seen. “The lady, she told us to run. So I ran and didn’t look back, even when the screaming started. I don’t know if the others made it.”

“Coward.” said the Overlord, and just as the peasant went to cry about not going back there again, the glint of axe blinded him. It then smashed into his skull, splintering bone and leaking a little brains out. The guard nearby fainted in an ungraceful heap at the sight.

 _‘So these useless peons have a castle? What for? They have no royalty among them…’_ The Overlord went through the gate, a little further until he saw where all the smoke was coming from. One massive stone castle lay over the hill and far enough to prove troublesome. It was also hard to breathe the further one walked, so the Overlord sent his reds ahead to quell what of the flames they could.

**“A thousand halflings couldn’t do this much damage. I smell magic in the air. That’s never a good smell, Sire. I think you should investigate further.”**

“Urgh.” Coughing a bit was the Overlord’s response. Unfortunately he couldn’t stop to draw breath as the moment the flames had died, his reds were set upon by a black guy. Or at least, some dude in dark clothes with a shiny silver sword. The ninja whispered as he set upon the Lord of Darkness, slicing straight into the one place that had no armour. The Overlord’s right elbow.

“GHn!” A gasp tore from the Overlord’s throat, a dry heat searing his skin. The blade was on fire! And now he had been burnt! _‘Oh, fuck me. I am going to DESTROY YOU!’_ At once he set all of his minions onto the ninja who now chose to retreat, but was chased by the browns and burnt by the fire-throwing reds. Miraculously there were no deaths but the Overlord had been injured – and was bleeding. His dark red blood flowed from the cut so close to bone, trickling down his gauntlet. All the minions looked up at him with concern, murmuring “Master…?” in their little voices.

“Onwards.” growled the Overlord, marching forth. He kept his arm stiff by his side, still holding his axe despite the pain. As time wore on it began to feel heavy, and when he lifted it to swing at a massive beetle there was nothing but pain in his mind.

_‘Rrrghhh… I might have to rely on my minions for this. We cannot turn back, not now. I’m sure there will be a Gate nearby…’_

Just up the path that curved around to the left, the Overlord saw Castle Spree looming tall into the reddish grey sky. The drawbridge was up, barring entry.

 **“Better find another way in, oh Master of the Shadows.”** Gnarl spoke as if he _knew_ the way would be blocked. Today was not turning out to be such a good day after all, and it was all that stupid ninja’s fault. Much to the Overlord’s irritation there were only more of them, jumping out of bushes and whispering their creepy threats. Nothing they said was intelligible in the slightest. The Overlord sent his minions to them and was shocked when both ninjas _dodged_ , swinging their swords to cut into all the browns before them. Five browns died, and the reds throwing their fireballs cried out.

“Burn! Burn!”

What was left of the browns made quick work of the ninjas, though they were badly scratched and some looked a little weak. They stole what weapons had dropped, while one (missing an eye and half his teeth) held up a bag of coins for the Overlord.

It was in a mood most foul that the Overlord sent his minions through a crack in the wall, had them turn a wheel to lower Castle Spree’s drawbridge and then lead the ten ninjas inside out. Once the browns had gotten the ninjas a fair distance from the Overlord, they were left to be cut up as their Master made haste into the castle grounds. The place was infested with huge red bugs and endless smaller ones running around, which were easily squashed to pulp. Crunching shells lead all the way to the Overlord’s primary objective – the glowing white circle of a Waypoint Gate. Far right it was, just under an archway. The moment he stepped foot on the grass beyond the cobblestone floor, something heavy landed on him with a hiss and _thud_.

“Shshsnsmwwnekjhrngm!” whispered the ninja, and slipped his sword between the Overlord’s legs. He only caught a thrashing thigh and cut deep into muscle before he was backward-bodyslammed into the ground, his head crushed by the force. The sneaky buggers had set up an ambush! More came and luckily the minions distracted them while the Overlord got to his feet. Walking was a bleeding pain now too, and he could barely swing his axe for lack of strength.

 _‘Fuck this,’_ he thought. ‘ _I’m going back.’_

The waypoint gate glimmered as he dragged himself close. Just as he turned to step onto it, something nearby grabbed his attention. Tucked away behind one of the castle’s turrets was a grey cylinder, glowing red lines racing around it. It looked like part of a totem pole… the same kind as the ones back at the Tower. Three minions brought it and it went through the Gate, right after the Overlord.

~

“Sire, you’re back….!?” Gnarl nearly tripped as he ran down the stairs. He took in the sight of his Lord, battered and bleeding. “It’s only been three hours!”

“Do I look like I give a SHIT?” The Overlord threw his axe with his good hand and nearly took Gnarl’s lamp-post crystal off. “Aughh!”

“N-now now, wait a moment, you’re… bleeding…” Higher in pitch, Gnarl’s words held legitimate concern. He rushed over to guide the Overlord to his throne, where minions soon removed his armour. Then his clothes. Completely nude save for his short white breeches, he leaned back and winced.

“Let me take a look at that…” Gnarl muttered to himself and first inspected the slice to just above the elbow. “Hmmm. Giblet! Bring water and some healing potions. The rest of you, that object over here.”

While the Overlord was looked after, he did his best not to wince at the horrid sting of supposed curatives against wounded flesh. He was the strong, powerful Lord of Darkness after all. A few cuts weren’t meant to hurt this much. Then again, he had no memory of true pain and this was his ‘first’ taste. Perhaps it was only natural.

“Gubbin you _fool_ , that’s acid!” Gnarl’s whisper went thankfully unheard by the Overlord, but the sizzle against mistaken minion wasn’t.

“Stop your infernal babbling and get on with it. I have things to do.”

“Oh?” Gnarl brightened up. “Planning to go out again, Sire?”

“Hell no. I’m going to sleep.”

“B-but it’s barely past midday! Surely you-”

“Have. Things. To DO.”

There was no response after that. Only a little more care applied to the Overlord’s wounds, as none of the minions healing him wished to incur his wrath. At his thigh, only Gnarl dared to clean all the blood and stitch up the gash. Needle pricks felt like nothing compared to the injury itself.

 _‘Fucking ninjas…’_ The Overlord sought vengeance against them, whoever they were and wherever they came from. Gnarl held up something for him, and it was a vial of glowing red liquid.

“The Health potion, Sire. From the object. Drink, and see yourself strengthened…”

“Mn.” It was taken without question and gulped down. At once the Overlord’s eyes rolled back into his head, their light extinguished by the falling of lids. In his sleep his body was healed, growing stronger in itself due to the potion’s powerful magic. He could take a little more beating before finding himself exhausted – this Gnarl knew, and hoped it would keep the Overlord from running home at the first sign of trouble. He’d been watching. _Child_ Overlords had been braver than this. But his current Master had quite the short fuse, and his frustration was understandable. Nobody liked the ninjas. Except their leader… who would be dead soon enough.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Btw, I don't plan to put noncon/rape in here because it makes me uncomfortable to write it. My Overlord takes no sexual pleasure in unwilling bodies. At present, he's all about killing and being the PG-13 mastermind we know and love. From the games. Until he realizes there's more to his job than just murder...


End file.
